Ochdamh-mòr

Octomore

Super-Heavily Peated Islay Single Malt

It started out as a late night “what if?” idea after a few drams. What if we distilled the most heavily peated barley humanly possible, in the tall, narrow-necked Bruichladdich stills? The legendary Octomore, named for James Brown’s farm above Port Charlotte, this is a dram that has taken the world by storm.

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The world’s most heavily peated single malt has had a Brobding-nagian effect on a world aching for a challenge to comfortable convention. An esoteric series of numbered, experimental, mostly very limited releases, has fatally undermined the assumption that the quality of single malt Scotch whisky is simply a function of its age.

Clinging to the hill high above Port Charlotte on the Rhinns of Islay is the enigma that is Octomore Farm, for Octomore too once housed a distillery. Even older than the beautiful village it overlooks, Octomore is a throwback to the days of fierce independence, when self sufficiency was the only option, and the legality of distillation itself still a revolutionary concept.

The men who tended the fires at Octomore would have grown the barley on their land, and cut the peat from their banks. The distillery burst into life in the distant days of 1816, long before the Clyde puffers were bringing coal in from Glasgow, and burnt brightly for a few short years.

The single malt scotch spirit they produced would also have been heavily peated, and sold very young to a market keen to experience the unique flavours that emerge from this extraordinary island. We are confident they would have saluted Octomore today. The iron fist in the velvet glove.

The Octomore Whisky ArchiveOur legacy. Our story.

We are unashamedly experimental. By no means exhaustive, we hope you enjoy browsing this small selection of our historic Octomore whisky single malt bottlings.

Discover Bruichladdichour unpeated single malt whisky range

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WMD – THE STORY OF THE YELLOW SUBMARINE HAS BEEN FULL OF CHARACTER AND CHARACTERS RIGHT FROM THE BEGINNING.

It started with our friend ‘Demolition Dave’ helping Duncan McGillivray and his gang to demolish the old Inverleven distillery – buying up all the old equipment for scrap and loading it onto barges on the Clyde. All so Duncan had some spares to keep Bruichladdich running in the days of No Money.

As this odd flotilla was being towed round the Mull of Kintyre and up to Islay, Laddie MD Mark Reynier received an email from the Defence Threat Reduction Agency (DTRA) in the USA who had been monitoring distillery webcams on the grounds that our processes could have been ‘tweaked’ to produce the dreaded WMD. ‘Weapons of Mass Destruction’.

Never one to allow the opportunity for a good story to pass him by, or to get his beloved distillery in the news, Reynier embellished the tale, which soon grew to involve spies and the CIA and visits by weapons inspectors. All of which made great headline-grabbing copy in the febrile media atmosphere then prevailing around WMD.

One of the stills from Inverleven was dutifully set up outside the old Victorian buildings, and became an iconic sight, with a pair of Duncan’s old wellie boots sticking out of the top to represent those weapons inspectors searching for dangerous chemicals deep in its copper bottomed interior.

A special bottling was commissioned (of course) and dubbed the ‘Whisky of Mass Distinction’ (geddit?) and much hilarity ensued. At least among the Laddies, the rest of the whisky industry having long since given up on the noisily irreverent rebels.

WMDII: A YELLOW SUBMARINE

Things were about to get even more eccentric because, shortly afterwards, Islay fisherman John Baker was heading home to Port Ellen when he spotted something awash in the sea off the bow of his boat. Being a resourceful man, he attached a rope to said object and towed it into the pier where Gordon Currie lifted it out of the water. It proved to be a very beautiful yellow submarine.

Very conveniently, the yellow vessel had ‘Ministry of Defence’ and a telephone number stencilled on it, which was of course immediately called. What happened next was to become the stuff of legend. He was connected to the Royal Navy. “I have found your yellow submarine” said John. “We haven’t lost a yellow submarine” said the Navy. Which was an odd response as the evidence to the contrary was overwhelming.

John and Gordon then loaded the submarine onto a lorry and took it to a secret location in Port Ellen (actually fellow fisherman Harold Hastie’s back garden). The local newspaper was called, then the nationals, and the following day the red-tops were full of pictures of the two friends astride the lethal-looking machine, carrying fishing rods, and asking: “Has anybody lost a yellow submarine?”

Hilarious… unless you were the Royal Navy – who did eventually admit to it being theirs. HMS Blyth, the minesweeper that lost it, eventually came to pick it up, slipping into the pier at dawn to winch it aboard. By that time, Bruichladdich had (of course) commissioned another bottling, WMD2: The Yellow Submarine, and a box of lovely liquid was graciously offered, and accepted by the captain as a goodwill gesture.

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